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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006262">the man and his moon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn'>fonulyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad poetry (sorry Joe), Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Joe has a nightmare and Nicky comforts him, M/M, Nightmares, all of the softness, not much to tag but i hope it's emotional, that's it that's the fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:20:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Drawing in huge gulping breaths Joe leans forward, his elbows on his thighs, face pressed into his palms. His shoulders are hunched in, shaking ever so slightly, as if he’s on the verge of tears and attempting to control his breaths to hold it back. </p><p>“Joe?” Carefully Nicky reaches out and places a hand on Joe’s shoulder, ready to pull back if Joe gives even the barest hint of not wanting to be touched right now. But instead of pulling back Joe seems to lean into the contact, be drawn into it, and Nicky takes the hint immediately. He scoots closer, wraps an arm around Joe’s waist, and when Joe practically collapses against him he catches him easily. </p><p>--<br/>Or the one wherein Nicky takes care of Joe after a nightmare.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>All and More (18+) Kaysanova Gift Bag 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the man and his moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/gifts">nasa</a>.</li>



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasa/pseuds/nasa">nasa</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020">All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>so even though I already wrote not one but <i>two </i>scenes where Joe wakes up from a nightmare into my big bang fic, that apparently wasn’t enough and I had to do a third one :’D</p><p>also I’d like to formally apologize to Yusuf Al-Kaysani for insinuating that he’s a terrible poet by writing absolutely terrible poetry in his name :’D imagine that it sounded <i>a lot </i>better in the original language it was written in, which definitely wasn’t English. (yes that’s my excuse I blame the translation) warnings for utterly cheesy and clichéd sun-moon imagery and the likes :’D</p><p>I hope it’s acceptable! combined the nightmare prompt with the poetry (and the domesticity I’d say) prompt.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nicky is brutally yanked from sleep when beside him Joe lurches upright with a strangled sound that chills Nicky straight to the marrow of his bones. Already before his conscious mind catches up to it he knows it’s a nightmare, recognizes all the signs even when he’s not yet properly awake. Some nights it starts with restlessness and barely audible whimpers, some nights Joe talks in his sleep before jolting awake, and some nights it’s like this: sudden and violent, like a bucket of icy water thrown on them. </p><p>Drawing in huge gulping breaths Joe leans forward, his elbows on his thighs, face pressed into his palms. His shoulders are hunched in, shaking ever so slightly, as if he’s on the verge of tears and attempting to control his breaths to hold it back. </p><p>“Joe?” </p><p>Carefully Nicky reaches out and places a hand on Joe’s shoulder, ready to pull back if Joe gives even the barest hint of not wanting to be touched right now. But instead of pulling back Joe seems to lean into the contact, be drawn into it, and Nicky takes the hint immediately. He scoots closer, wraps an arm around Joe’s waist, and when Joe practically collapses against him he catches him easily. </p><p>The way they’re twisted close together is awkward at best, and slowly Nicky settles back down on the mattress, pulling Joe with him. Joe doesn’t resist, he only tries to stay as close as he possibly can, his face hidden into the crook of Nicky’s shoulder. There are only a handful of nightmares bad enough to get under his skin like this. </p><p>“I’ve got you,” Nicky begins, slowly. “I’m here, Joe. It was a dream. A dream.” Whenever Joe is this shaken, he needs to hear a familiar voice, needs to be tethered into reality instead of slipping back into the nightmare that woke him in the first place.  </p><p>And Nicky is not bad with words. He is no poet, but he says what he means and means what he says, and it’s not as if he struggles with that. Yet somehow at moments like this words seem wholly inadequate and it’s as if they evaporate from his mind. As wide awake as he is, his mind seems to be still waking up, and all he can do is repeat platitudes.</p><p>So he falls back to the first poem that crosses his mind. “<i>And the man cries to the moon</i>,” he begins, from the middle of the poem, “<i>where would I be were it not for you?</i>” In his arms he feels Joe still for a second, as if he’s distracted by the words, and encouraged by that Nicky goes on with a voice firmer than before. “<i>Only with your guiding light</i>,” he says softly, and brushes his fingers over Joe’s temple, pushes the tips into Joe’s curls, “<i>did I ever make it through the night. </i>”</p><p>Joe shifts in his arms, but his face stays firmly against Nicky’s shoulder. He takes a shuddering breath, draws in as much air as he physically can, and lets it all out in a rush. There’s a wet patch on Nicky’s shirt where tears soak through it, but he doesn’t mind it, doesn’t comment on it, but focuses on holding Joe close in all the ways that he needs right now. </p><p>“<i>Yet words fall like stones</i>,” Nicky continues, gently, soothingly, “<i>disappear into the sands below</i>.” He knows it’s more his voice that tethers Joe than what he’s actually saying, but the corner of his mouth ticks up as he realizes he’s reciting a poem about inability to communicate at a moment when he finds words so hard himself. “<i>Never reaching the skies they get caught</i>,” he continues, “<i>wind picks up and the moon answers not. </i>”</p><p>By now Joe is breathing steadily. Instead of clinging onto Nicky almost tight enough to hurt in his desperation he’s only holding on, his fingers blindly tracing the side seam of Nicky’s faded t-shirt. Nicky tilts his head enough to press a kiss on the top of Joe’s head, his voice hoarse with emotion as he goes on. “<i>And the man cries to the moon</i>,” he recites, “<i>where would I be were it not for you? </i>” He swallows hard. “<i>His heart bare, broken, reaching aloft. </i>”</p><p>And it’s Joe who finishes it, muttering the last words right into Nicky’s shoulder. “<i>The moon answers not. </i>”</p><p>Smiling, Nicky presses another kiss into Joe’s hair. </p><p>There’s a beat of silence, during which Nicky keeps drawing slow circles into Joe’s shoulder and his back with one hand, the other still tracing Joe’s hairline and occasionally dipping deeper into the curls. Joe’s breaths have evened out and he’s stopped shaking, something in Nicky immediately settling as he notices that. </p><p>When Joe speaks up, his voice is muffled by the way he still has his face pressed into Nicky’s shirt. “Are you quoting my own poetry to me?”</p><p>Nicky hums. “I am quoting my favorite poet to you.”</p><p>Finally Joe pulls back enough to look up at Nicky. His eyes are still rimmed red, watery in the way that speaks clearly of how close to tears he still is. Yet he’s smiling, looking at Nicky as if he’s utterly impossible and Joe doesn’t know why he’s so fond of him. “You’re quoting one of my <i>saddest </i>poems to me,” he says. “You realize that, right?”</p><p>Unrepentant, Nicky shrugs. “I like that poem.”</p><p>“I wrote it when I thought you would never love me,” Joe argues. “Those are the words of a desperate man! The most hopeless of poems.” He huffs theatrically, a clear sign he’s feeling more like himself.  “Do you enjoy my misery this much?” he asks, despite knowing the answer already. He’s smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and the shadows in his eyes are making way to the neverending love he holds within. </p><p>“You are wrong,” Nicky says, with confidence, as if he isn’t explaining the poem to the very person who wrote it. “It’s not a sad poem. It’s not hopeless.” He brings a hand up, brushes his fingers over Joe’s cheek, and as if on command Joe’s expression softens. “If anything, it is a reminder that hope is never lost.”</p><p>“The man still got his moon,” Joe says, his voice thick with emotion. He’s shining with it, radiant, and he is the most beautiful person Nicky has ever seen. It’s as if Nicky’s entire world aligns, slots in orbit around Joe, as it is meant to be. “You’re right,” Joe adds, at length. “It’s not hopeless. I should add another verse to it.”</p><p>“You should rest,” Nicky argues softly. “If you think you can.”</p><p>Joe makes an agreeing sound, setting his head onto Nicky’s chest. He may be listening to his heartbeats, or counting his even breaths, but whatever it is that helps him find his calm it takes Joe mere minutes to fall back asleep now. </p><p>It is Nicky who stays awake much longer, watching over Joe, ready to soothe away any new nightmares should they appear. “The man may have gotten his moon,” he whispers into Joe’s curls, slipping his eyes shut as he inhales the familiar scent that immediately draws a smile from him. “But in him, the moon got its sun.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>am also <a href="https://fonulyn.tumblr.com/">on tumblr</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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